


Pine Needles

by mirqueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirqueen/pseuds/mirqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred and George Weasley functioned differently from each other, contrary to popular belief. It was hard to see, but it was true. George comes to the realization that being a bit different from Fred is not such a crime when it comes to finding love. (AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pine Needles

Disclaimer: I do not own nor make any profit off of _Harry Potter_. It belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. etc.

A/N:Takes place during HP Book 5. Will be AU in some aspects, but not the major events of the books. As you will see as you read along, I have taken a rather odd view of the Weasley twins’ relationship.

> **Chapter 1: A Nagging Feeling**

Fred and George Weasley had always shared everything they owned or gained. Clothes, shoes, food, friends, hobbies, schoolwork, and the list could go on and on. There were only two things that the twins could not share in some way. One was the time of their birth, since Fred was some minutes older. The other thing they did not share was their taste in women. It was the one thing in which the two brothers were polar opposites.

Fred favored darker skin tones, brown eyes, curvy figures, and athleticism. George, on the other hand, favored pale skin, blue or green eyes, slender figures, and academia. It was difficult to double date because their dates usually had very little in common. When the Yule Ball approached the previous year, the two redheads finally decided to set out and find their dates for the ball as individuals, rather than as twins.

October of that same year had brought a revelation. Fred and Angelina had become pretty permanent in the relationship department. George was glad that one of them was at least making progress. As for himself, George had been in love with a particular witch in the castle for quite a long time, but totally and entirely incapable of ever coming clean about it as his twin had done.

As separate people, Fred and George Weasley functioned differently, contrary to popular belief. It was hard to see it, considering how forward both of them were, but it was nonetheless true. Fred was just slightly more outgoing that George was. While George had never been afraid of speaking his mind, he didn’t have Fred’s way of tactlessly and bluntly pursuing what he wanted to say. This was one arena in which George always wished he was a little more like Fred. He knew, however, that there was no way he could get the date he wanted even if he  _was_  as a bold as Fred. It just wouldn’t happen.

George had fawned over the witch of his dreams for a few weeks, but after realizing the impossibility, he decided not to give it any more thought. So, he’d gone stag to the ball. It wasn’t so strange, really. Fred clobbered him with jibes for not getting someone to go with him, but that was no big deal.

The younger twin allowed his mind to wander over the witch he had been attracted to for the better part of three years, not including the current one. Even as he thought of her, she seemed to glance toward the Gryffindor table. It was only a brief glance in the general direction, barely of any passing interest to most people, but George was caught up in the glimpse of her beautiful eyes. He could see their rich color, even from this distance. Shaking himself, he turned back to his meal and joined in whatever jokes Fred was mentioning to the Gryffindors around them.

The day progressed normally after that, right up until the dual Gryffindor and Ravenclaw transfiguration class, his second-to-last class of the day. George was only thankful that Umbridge wasn’t perusing the class this particular time. The connection would not have been missed by the old toad, he was sure of that. And his personal stance against the horrible, frog-like woman might have become an infraction upon the witch he dreamed about. The entire class period, he was consumed with watching her face, as always. When he couldn’t see her face, he looked at her hair. And when he could not see either, he simply thought about her.

She wasn’t the typical beauty. Maybe some didn’t even consider her beautiful, but George sure did. Her body was tall, slender and feminine. She had grace, poise, and confidence. It helped that she was intellectual and witty, as well. He loved that about her.

Along with her eyes, that was the first thing that had drawn him to her. Her wit. That was in his and Fred’s fourth year. He had denied the crush, but Fred always caught it anyway.

In their fifth year, George came to appreciate the physical grace and natural confidence of the witch he was so enamored with. At that point, he had thankfully learned how to hide the infatuation from his twin.

The previous year, George had begun to notice little things about her. Like the way she rubbed the fingers of one hand together when she was worried, the manner in which she stood stiff and cold when insulted, how her lips quirked in a tiny little half-smile when she found something amusing, and the lilting quality to her rare laughter.

Now, this summer, George had come to realize one very, very major thing.

He was falling for her.

He didn’t dare tell even Fred. That was saying something about the seriousness of the situation. Over the first four months at Hogwarts this year, it had steadily grown more serious. Most important about her in George’s mind, was the fact that Umbridge didn’t scare her. Second most important, she was proving her actions to be absolutely brilliant and courageous in the face of a tyrant. As brilliant as anyone could be without severe consequences, that was.

With all of this crashing down on him, George knew he was feeling something very powerful for her. The first person who knew about his feelings was his dad, on New Year’s Eve. George had felt a little badly for burdening his dad, who – despite having been sent home the day before – was still feeling poorly. But it was only because George almost went crazy during the break, trying to determine if it was just a crush or something much more. His dad was the only one with grace enough not to laugh it off, but take it seriously. Arthur had been a little confused by the reluctance to divulge her name, but otherwise supportive.

The next day, George was confronted by both of his parents on the subject. He had been so close to keeping his witch’s name a secret, but then his dad just had to bring his mum into it. Molly Weasley was the sort of woman who wasn’t going to let her children wallow in confusion if she could help it. In the end, George finally admitted to who it was.

He felt lucky that they didn’t have heart attacks right then and there, such was their shock.

Whatever they thought about it, however, George didn’t find out during the break. They had begged time to think about the situation a little more carefully and he and his siblings had gone back to Hogwarts the next day.

There were soon many more things to worry about at school, what with Umbridge decreeing everything in sight and the Inquisitorial Squad causing havoc, and April surprised him when it arrived. Fred was put out by George’s lackluster performance on the combination of their birthday and April Fool’s Day, but George hadn’t the energy. Umbridge had been getting him down for weeks previous to that particular day and he could tell she was causing his love to feel downhearted as well. Of course, losing Dumbledore all of a sudden would get just about anyone down who had half-a-brain.

The rest of April, he began to spend writing to his parents about what he was feeling. Fred didn’t need the extra burden; he was feeling the strain just as badly as George and was trying to maintain a long-distance relationship with Angelina in the process. So, George poured it all out onto paper, encrypted it, warded it, and sent it home whenever he felt the need.

Except for the letters to his parents, George was doing excellently at pushing his feelings out of sight and out of mind; so excellently that he almost had no reaction when he saw his witch. He still loved her, but he could hide it under layers and layers of self-protection. No need to break his heart every time he so much as heard her voice – or so he told himself.

Arthur and Molly’s feelings about his secret love surfaced sometime after his fifteenth letter. His mother had not been pleased, which really did not surprise George. She could easily see the challenges lying in that direction and pointed them out vividly.

George was more than stunned to find his dad supporting him, if not encouraging it outright. It was equally as shocking to find Arthur placing him in an adult position, able to make adult choices about his feelings. Whatever sensible points Molly Weasley may have brought up, Arthur’s support made George believe in his feelings all the more strongly.

Upon receiving his father’s encouragement, George’s wish had been to admit his feelings at some point before graduation. Now, it seemed there just wasn’t a proper time or place to do so. He had, in fact, written of just that problem to his dad. Arthur hadn’t written back yet, and that was four days prior. George was beginning to wonder if his dad was second-guessing his support.

"George!" Fred’s insistent voice startled George from his thoughts suddenly.

"What?" the younger twin looked around him in confusion, realizing that they were the last students left in the room.

"You okay?" Fred asked, for once sounding serious. That was unfortunately becoming a common event for the two brothers. Umbridge and Voldemort was the kind of combination that did that to a person.

"Yeah," George replied with embarrassment. His thoughts always got him carried away. "I’m fine."

"If you’re sure," Fred rose and gathered him things while he spoke. "Charms next, mate."

"Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall announced her presence suddenly at the desk. "I would like to speak with you."

Both boys stared at her momentarily, before she realized her error.

"George, if you please," she clarified, cheeks only slightly pink with embarrassment at her ambiguity. "You may go to your next class, Fred."

"But—" Fred made to interrupt.

"On to class," McGonagall insisted firmly. "George is not in any trouble."

Fred looked highly skeptical, but he left all the same, glancing back every few seconds at his brother and Head of House. Once the elder twin was out of sight and even McGonagall’s animagus-honed ears could not catch a sound of his footsteps, the witch closed the door with a wave of her wand. George gulped in anticipation of a good yelling session and looked down at his hands, where they lay in his lap. He should have paid more attention to the lesson. He wasn’t in trouble, she had said, but he anticipated it instinctively all the same. It was his and Fred’s natural habitat, after all.

"Mr. Weasley," but the professor’s voice was quiet; so much so that the younger twin glanced up at her face in wonder. Her eyes were filled with compassion as he had never seen in her before. Unfortunately, he could also see pure stress and exhaustion behind the compassion. Umbridge was running her ragged. That much had been obvious from the beginning, but with Dumbledore gone and the toad lording the Headmistress position over McGonagall, it was ten times worse.

"Professor?" he asked hoarsely as she sat in the seat beside him that Fred had vacated.

"I am…" here she paused in her reply, reluctant to voice it. " _worried_  about you.”

"I’m sorry?" George questioned with some disbelief. Of all the people she could worry about, herself foremost on the list, she was worried about  _him_?

"You’re not the same," she went on with renewed confidence. "Even your own twin couldn’t get you into the mood on the first of this month. You seem so… so unenthusiastic of late. I realize it is difficult to be cheerful all of the time, but it’s a startling change. It’s almost as if you are giving up somehow."

"But I—," George could not say any more, for he was startled by a persistent ticking that suddenly sounded at the window across the way. As he looked, two owls were sitting on the sill outside the window nearest the professor’s desk, relentlessly pecking at the glass for entry.

McGonagall rose from her place irritably, once she realized the owls outside would not let up, and allowed them to fly in and drop a single envelope and a rather thick parcel on her desk. Sighing plaintively, the professor stepped closer and picked up the individual envelope first.

George could only think the message was either long or confusing or both, because the witch did not move for a number of minutes, eyes riveted to the letter in her hand.

Upon looking away from the parchment, she immediately reached for the envelope that was attached to the outside of the parcel. Long minutes passed while McGonagall read the second letter and George began to fidget at his desk. She had not moved from her place or even breathed, it seemed, the entire time. At last though, her eyes glanced back to his brown orbs briefly from where she still stood by the desk.

"Mr. Weasley," the bespectacled professor turned to him momentarily, her voice thoughtful. "I must attend to a rather important matter at present. I would, however, like to continue our discussion. I will send you notice of when I expect you."

"Yes, professor," George replied evenly, gathering his things mechanically as he made to leave.

"Good day, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall nodded, but turned back once more. "Oh, and you may give this pass to Professor Flitwick."

George found himself catching a piece of paper that Professor McGonagall sent his way, before leaving the room and his Head of House behind him, forceful curiosity gnawing at him the entire walk to the charms classroom. Thank goodness Umbridge and her cronies didn’t come upon him or he would have been flayed alive and his slip of paper ignored. Professor Flitwick, though, was easily swayed to George’s favor once he handed over the note from Professor McGonagall and the younger twin noiselessly slid into the spot beside Fred.

"What happened?" Fred muttered in a low voice and nudged George in the ribs very minutely, only enough to gain his attention.

"Nothing much," George answered truthfully while pulling out his charms textbook. "Looks like I’m showing the difference between your personality and mine, for once. She’s worried about me; thinks I’m giving up or something."

"Wicked," Fred grinned, obviously pleased, and patted his brother welcomingly on the shoulder. "McGonagall just a big softie, isn’t she?"

George allowed himself to grin back, despite his recent bunk.

"Yeah, she is," he answered his twin, forcing himself to focus as long as he could on the lesson.

Somewhere near the end, though, the brothers had finished early and George remembered his appointment that evening. Professor McGonagall came up in the conversation once more.

"She really should be worrying about herself," Fred threw out with some concern as they were packing up to leave the classroom. "It’s scary how thin she’s gotten, from what I can see. Looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks, either."

"True enough," George agreed solemnly. "But would  _you_  want to sleep if an egomaniac was running the school that  _you_  should rightfully be in charge of? I sure as hell wouldn’t want to sleep if Umbridge was lording herself over my students. I’d be out watching as often as I could.”

"When you put it that way…" Fred admitted with a rare scowl on his freckled features. "We’ve got so much trouble already with the toad, I just didn’t think."

"We definitely have plenty of problems," George said under his breath.

"McGonagall’s health and sanity just happens to have become one of them," Fred announced abruptly.

"She  _needs_  someone to worry about her,” George continued the thought adamantly, but quietly. “Umbridge’s got some personal vendetta against her.”

"Isn’t  _that_  the bloody truth…” Fred agreed with narrowed eyes, nearly growling the next words. “I’d like to take that damned clipboard and shove it up her bloated pink—”

"Come now, Weasleys," Flitwick’s miniscule voice sprouted up out of nowhere in front of the twins’ seats, startling them slightly. Then his voice became lower than they’d ever heard it go. "I can think of far more useful methods of revolt than the… ahem…  _Headmistress’_  clipboard.”

Fred and George’s faces were a picture of shock for a full minute. Not only had the typically kind Professor Flitwick just insinuated a derisive tone about a colleague, but he had encouraged revolt and casually offered the twins help in that selfsame revolt. Granted, they didn’t believe he’d actually help them in a practical sense, but the thought was there. Fred was first to recover and he grinned devilishly. Seeing Fred’s look, George joined in the grinning without hesitation, glad there was still something to grin  _about_.

"We understand, professor," the twins replied at once.

"Oh, and please," Flitwick went on to say quietly, looking beseechingly at the brothers. "by all means, any support or concern you can spare for Professor McGonagall would greatly ease the conscience of each and every staff member. And the Headmaster feels the same, I am sure, wherever he is."

The twins only nodded at that and then left the small professor behind, making their way to the common room, where they spent the next few hours perfecting ideas for more Umbridge pranks. Dinner came and went quicker than usual, or so George felt. It was probably (and thankfully) because the meal was uneventful all around, despite the angry glances tossed intermittently towards the ‘Headmistress’ where she filled the seat that should (at least temporarily) belong to the witch sitting just to her right. Then again, those looks were common on any given day for any student who wasn’t a Slytherin or Marietta Edgecombe. (Her face was still emblazoned with SNEAK, as George noted with unusually vindictive pleasure.)

A bit after leaving the great hall, eight o’clock made itself known to the twins, who were up in their dormitory once more. George stood from his and Fred’s latest supply list with a slight ache in his upper back from bending over to write on the parchment.

"I swear," George grumbled good-naturedly. "We should petition the Governors to add a decent desk and chair up in these dorms. For the tall people of the world."

"I expect they’d consider it a prank, Gred," Fred grinned at his twin. "Who’d believe that’s all there was to it? We  _are_  infamous, after all.”

"Right you are, Forge," George grinned as well, just as a house-elf in a toga-like red garment cracked loudly into existence in front of him and caused both brothers to jump.

"Ye gods," Fred muttered, relaxing back into a comfortable slump, "And they say  _we_  make entrances.”

The elf snapped its fingers at once, causing the door to close and several wards to pop into existence almost as loudly as the little elf had.

"Mistress asks Toody to give message to Weasley," the little elf spoke. "Asks to be at the Headmaster’s office within the half-hour. Password is  _lemon ginger._  Says not to get caught.”

With that said, two more cracks heralded the elf’s removal of the wards and subsequent exit. George did not doubt the elf’s authenticity, for there wasn’t a single house-elf in the whole of Hogwarts who would deliver a message to or from Umbridge or her little cronies.

"Best be off, then," George announced his departure, assuming this was McGonagall’s effort to continue their earlier conversation. "Although I can’t think why she suggested Dumbledore’s office."

"Need I convince her you’re not suicidal?" Fred offered automatically, returning to the sketches he was perfecting for some of their latest ideas.

That was always Fred’s job, sketching out the ideas. George did help at times, of course, but Fred was an infinitely better artist. The younger twin, on the other hand, had a head for the figures and material planning.

George stepped over to his bed in two paces, pulling his black school sweater on and leaving the sleeves of his white button-up still rolled to the elbow beneath it.

"Nah," George answered nonchalantly. "I doubt she’s quite  _that_  worried.”

"At least you perked up after Charms," Fred added with obvious relief, sending an uncommonly piercing look at his twin and abandoning his sketching for a moment. "Sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?"

"Not yet, Fred," George replied in an equally uncommon tone of complete seriousness, staring right back at his brother honestly. "Maybe after graduation."

The twins continued to lock gazes, measuring up each other’s sincerity as they had not done since they were four. Fred eventually turned away with understanding of a kind, taking up the quill again and putting his eyes back to the parchment.

As the younger of the two reached for the door handle, a fifth and sixth crack brought Toody the house-elf back into their presence with wards once again in place. George was still gripping the handle by the very tips of his fingers, startled by the sudden reappearance of the elf.

"Mistress adds to her message," the elf piped up before George could exit. "for  _both_  Weasleys to come.”

Fred looked up in apparent bewilderment, to which George shrugged his own confusion.

"Who knows?" the younger redhead told him and turned to the elf. "Thanks, Toody."

Once again the elf double-cracked away, leaving Fred to pack up their parchments and pull his own sweater on.

"Looks like we’re in for it," Fred grinned mildly. "Let’s go, then."

After a quick decision on the next level down from theirs, George chose make a short stop at the fifth-year boys’ dorm in the hopes that his plan would make their upcoming trek easier, Fred following with swift understanding. Neville exited the dormitory and headed downward, ignorant of the boys’ presence as the redheads came off the last step. Peeking in, the twins were glad to find only Harry and Ron present in the room. The former noticed them immediately and set down what looked like his charms textbook with a slightly relieved smile. O.W.L. studying was clearly taking its toll. Ron, however, faced partially away from the two with something that was definitely not O.W.L. material, if the animated brooms on the outer cover were any indication.

"Fred, George," Harry greeted the twins with a nod to each of them at their respective names (amazingly accurate for someone outside of their family) but was unable to say more as Ron interrupted.

"Which one’s which?" the youngest redhead asked a bit rudely from his four-poster, head now turned back to the doorway to see his brothers. Never did have any tact, the little git…

"Not sure today," Fred grinned as he leaned onto the doorjamb with folded arms and George mirrored the gestures exactly, feeling a bit cheekier now that they were facing their younger brother.

"I might be Gred," said George with a careless shrug.

"I might be Forge," Fred added instantaneously, grinning wider, if it was possible.

George went on to nonchalantly say, “Then again we might be–”

"–the complete opposite," Fred immediately tacked on, casting Harry an ostentatious wink.

"Or maybe–" George began to suggest darkly.

"–if you’re really unlucky–" Fred cut in sinisterly, sensing the direction that the younger twin was heading.

"–we’re Snape and Filch in disguise," George finished off for them both with a stage whisper. He and his twin both bowed to Harry’s grinning face, while Ron just scowled.

"Well, which is it?" the emerald-eyed wizard suddenly asked in mock-seriousness. "I want to know if I should hex you or not."

"I would have hexed them no matter which one it was," the youngest Weasley boy mumbled, eyes back on his magazine.

"Might we borrow something, Harry?" George inquired politely and stepped inside while Fred shut the door, just in case. Both of them also gave their blue-eyed brother a mischievous warning look that had never failed to shut him up. Even only briefly glancing back up to catch the look, Ron was quickly silenced.

"Sure," Harry agreed readily, yet with some confusion and the vaguest of suspicion on his face. "What do you need?"

"Cloak or map," the seventh-years answered casually. Suspicion warred with curiosity on Ron’s face.

"What for?" the younger Weasley inquired with narrowed eyes.

Harry shot an annoyed look at Ron, who totally missed the expression.

"Meeting," George shrugged.

"Told us to not get caught," Fred explained further.

"Who did?" Ron was deathly curious now.

"Not telling," George said, point-blank.

"Yet, anyway," again Fred elaborated, though it was doubtful they would ever tell.

"Fair enough," Harry shrugged and jumped over the end of his bed with a twist of his body to begin digging around in his trunk. After a couple of minutes, he came back up with both the requested objects in hand.

"Take them both," the fifth year suggested, reaching out to offer them to the older boys. "They work best that way, really."

"You sure?" George asked him, cautiously taking both of the things in hand. "You might need one of them."

"I’ll manage," Harry shrugged again, turning to jump back onto the bed.

"Thanks then," Fred gratefully responded. "We’ll bring them back tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Sure thing," Harry nodded in acceptance and picked up his charms text with reluctance. "Just don’t get them confiscated, yeah?"

George and Fred laughed and threw on the cloak, and soon after they were opening the door and heading back out onto the stairs to the common room, which was quite full. Thankfully everyone was mostly sitting, making the trek out of the portrait hole much easier. Not that the two of them wouldn’t have enjoyed randomly knocking people about, but Hermione would certainly know what was happening and catch them.

The corridors were strangely empty of all students as they looked at the marauders map. Most were in their common rooms and dormitories. Even the professors had disappeared from the halls for the evening. One hallway _could_  have led them straight into Umbridge in such a way that the cloak would have been useless, but a suit of armor had a convenient space behind it, from which they saw the pink toad make her waddling way towards what they recognized (even at a distance) to be her office.

George couldn’t help rolling his eyes at her attempt to stride imperiously down the hall. As a rough guess, he’d say she was trying to look like Minerva McGonagall… well, if said witch was short and pudgy and wearing ruffles, frills, strappy undersized pumps, various horrifying shades of pink, a bow the size of a small owl, and skirts that were tight enough to further restrict the already-limited leg movement.

George practically snorted out loud. Sheer willpower kept him from making any noise, though his body was shaking with laughter as the toad closed the office door behind her. Fred looked confused, but grinned all the same. Allowing his laughter a moment to subside, George led his twin from their place of concealment and then forced his mind onto something less amusing as they finished the journey to the familiar gargoyle that shepherded the headmaster’s office. It was about a quarter past eight by his watch when they checked the map one last time and then safely removed the cloak.

"Lemon ginger," George uttered the password quietly, Fred closing the map in the meantime, and the gargoyle immediately opened for them, revealing the long spiraling staircase which led up to the office at the top of the tower.

The door loomed before Fred and George once they stepped off the revolving stairs and removed Harry’s invisibility cloak. The sound of heels clicking on flagstone at a brisk pace let them know McGonagall was indeed there. It seemed she was pacing or the like, because the clicking was patterned in a loud-soft-loud-soft manner. George was also quickly surprised to hear raised voices coming from inside the room, although the words were not clear through the polished oaken door. The Scottish lilt of the loudest voice made its owner very obvious. One other voice in the room was not distinguishable, for the speaker talked in a very low tone. The two remaining voices (both of which were equally as heated as the first, if a  _bit_  quieter), however, struck the young wizards positively dumb.

There was nothing so unmistakable as the voices of their parents.

George twitched in sync with Fred. McGonagall, Mum  _and_  Dad in a fury? Life couldn’t get much worse for them if that was the case. Looking over at his brother, he could tell the same thing was running through his mind.

"What did we _do_?” Fred breathed the question for him, an eyebrow reaching his hairline.

All at once the voices ceased inside the room and after a moment or two of silence, only the barest murmur could be heard. A prolonged pause descended upon the brothers uncomfortably until the door swung open abruptly, revealing the professor, who was clearly not in her typical professional form. George couldn’t say what stunned him the most about her. That her raven hair was partly loose and mildly messy, her flushed face, the fading fury on her features, or the fact that she had shed her formal green outer-robe in favor of the simple black skirt and high-necked top that she always wore underneath. Her hair practically could have blended into her clothing, if not for the sheen it garnered in the light.

"Weasleys," the professor addressed them in a voice of sudden (perhaps forced) calm, and gestured for the twins to enter.

It was to find a room devoid of any other people. George shared a confused look with Fred as to why their parents had left, but their attention was soon distracted temporarily as the door closed behind them quietly and the witch pushed the two towards the large desk. George could only assume she was warding the door behind them or some such, for he could not take his eyes off of the disordered office long enough to check and neither, it seemed, could Fred.

Dumbledore’s office was never exactly tidy, George knew that. Heaven knew they’d been in the office enough to know that… but  _this_  was downright wild. Quills, inkpots, feathers, and a mixture of just about everything else lay strewn about randomly. Books of all sizes and ages were lying open on every available surface amidst the whirring silver instruments that always sat in the room. Papers were everywhere; on the desk, the chairs, the floor, the fireplace mantle, in the trash bin, and even lazily floating back down from above Fawkes’ perch. Whatever had happened in the office before they entered did not appear to be good.

Standing uncertainly some four feet away from the desk itself, due to the papers covering the stone floor, George realized that the professor’s outer-robes were hanging in a corner of the room. He could now understand why her robes were discarded; ink or something similar seemed to have soaked the green material through and through. Even now, some of the ink was dripping from the robe and into a pan that the professor had undoubtedly conjured or transfigured. He couldn’t help wondering why she didn’t just use magic to clean the garment, but did not ask.

"Please, sit," McGonagall pointed vaguely at one of the chairs while waving her hand at the papers. They were not vanished, organized, or even moved more than a few feet really. She merely shifted them to allow a clear path and a free seat for both teens and then went about looking over one of the open books to the left side of the room. Despite the simplicity of the spell, it was difficult for George to stop gaping at the blatant wandless magic his Head of House had just performed. He’d never seen her do that before. Somehow, Fred didn’t notice the gesture at all. The elder twin’s eyes were roaming around the opposite side of the room.

Once the slight shock wore off, the twins shared another look as they sat, to determine the question of their parents. Seeing that their parents had obviously intended to be gone before the two arrived, George twisted his head in the barest of negative responses. Fred hesitated, but after a beat the elder twin tilted his head in acquiescence.

"Professor, I didn’t know you used this office…?" Fred asked instead, barely finishing his sentence before McGonagall was waving it away.

"I don’t," she quickly replied, returning to them briskly. "But I have had need of its privacy today. Professor Dumbledore allowed me its use."

"He was here?" George sound both surprised and concerned. "Isn’t that dangerous?"

McGonagall gave him a piercing look as he said it, her eyes completely unreadable as she scrutinized him for a long moment. A sense of satisfaction, if George was not mistaken, pervaded the professor’s face a moment afterward and he guessed she found whatever she’d been looking for in him.

"Perhaps it is," she concluded airily, waving a vague hand as she paced a bit, "but the fact remains. Just the same, you will of course not tell anyone?"

"Not a word," the seventh years nodded their agreement with ease. That was a simple order.

"Well, gentlemen," the professor at last settled (noticeably easier in demeanor than expected, considering she had clearly been arguing not long before), leaning back against the front of the desk. "I have some news for the both of you."

"News?" Fred’s curiosity got the better of him.

"Yes," the professor concurred. "Quite important, too, if I say so myself."

"We’re listening," George prompted her.

"As you have just realized," the witch’s tone switched to all-business, "Professor Dumbledore has been here. During his short visit, we agreed upon something incredibly important. Your parents were also here, as you undoubtedly heard, despite your apparent silence on the topic…"

Here she directed a stern look over the top of her spectacles to each of the twins, both of whom flushed slightly pink, but grinned nonetheless.

"Sorry, Professor," Fred shrugged.

The professor only gave a ‘hmm’ in response, though her lips nearly twitched in amusement.

"Well, at any rate," she pursed her lips. "Your parents agreed as well and decided to leave the task in my hands."

"Task?’ George asked curiously, allowing her the chance to respond.

"Yes," she continued, seeming to brace herself. "Fred and George Weasley, I would like to officially offer you the chance to join the Order of the Phoenix."

Fred and George both looked sharply at each other, amazement clear in their faces.

"Why?" Fred finally turned back to their Head of House.

McGonagall appeared pleased by the lack of a sudden, reckless decision on their parts.

"I cannot be certain," she made to explain, raising her hand for silence when Fred made to speak again in protest. "not precisely… But I know that Professor Dumbledore feels you have earned the right to join, by way of certain trustworthy actions on your part."

"What actions?" Fred asked, too quickly for George to ask his own question.

"It has been requested that I leave that explanation unspoken," the witch responded matter-of-factly. "So I cannot go into the details. I will simply say that I agree with the Headmaster."

"What about Lupin’s explanation back in August?" Fred did it again, bursting forth with his question before George could even half think out his own, let alone say them.

George pushed his impatience and irritation back from the forefront of his thoughts carefully. For the first time in a very long while, Fred was acting in such a way that got under his skin just as much as Ron or Percy could. The younger redhead took a calming breath at the unusual upsurge of aggression towards his twin. Perhaps hiding away over his new love interest had done more to their thick-as-thieves relationship than he had realized.

"What did he tell you?" McGonagall appeared patient enough, but George wondered if she was just very, very adept at hiding her annoyance at this moment. Fred sounded a little rude, after all.

"He said we not only had to be overage, but also out of school," Fred answered promptly.

"He is correct," the professor adjusted her spectacles unnecessarily while commenting, a gesture that George took as being some small sign of agitation. "That is typically what we require. However, there are circumstances which Professor Dumbledore has seen as an indicator that you should be enabled to join now."

"Professor," George finally had a moment in which to wedge a question or two of his own, gaining the witch’s attention, who nodded in his direction. "How did anyone convince our mother?"

Here the woman smiled a bit mischievously, but George thought he imagined it. Until she spoke, that is…

"Let me merely say," she spoke softly and bent slightly forward, as if revealing a great conspiracy. "That there are some things that Molly should remember about recklessness before she scolds her children for it."

Fred and George’s jaws both dropped, leaving Minerva McGonagall smiling satisfactorily.

"Well, you two," she continued as if nothing had happened, straightening back up. "You have a significant decision to make. Personally, I hope you join us, but please try not to let that influence you."

George privately wondered how on earth that  _couldn’t_  influence them. If McGonagall had confidence in them, that was saying quite a bit.

"I’d like to join," Fred considered, furrowing his brows in thought, "but what do you think about it George?"

Two sets of eyes settled onto George and he felt a bit self-conscious. Did he want to join? Yes, of course, he did. But something very important bothered him about the idea.

"I…" the younger twin began to speak, but made the mistake of looking up into his brother’s face. The expectancy on Fred’s features was enough to make him feel guilty for not immediately agreeing. "I’m interested…"

"But?" the professor prompted him, rightly guessing he was unsure. Fred looked at her in bewilderment, obviously not understanding George. It was one of a scarce number of times it had happened, that was for sure.

"I can’t put it into words," George tried to explain, but nothing truthful would really come of it. "There’s this nagging feeling… I don’t know why exactly."

He sincerely hoped that the lie was not showing on his face too obviously. He knew perfectly well what the nagging feeling was. He simply couldn’t tell them.

Much to his chagrin, his head of house instantly pierced him with a look similar to how she had done moments earlier. Her countenance told George that she knew he was being dishonest. It made him want to curl up under a rock and never come back out again; and that was a feeling he had not encountered for quite some time, no matter what kind of mischief he was scolded for or by whom.

Fred, on the other hand, made a sound of understanding, as though he knew what George’s ‘nagging feeling’ was. It was unbelievable the difference one little secret could make on their bond as brothers, but George simply couldn’t tell him the truth. Maybe fifty years down the road, after they’d both married and had twenty kids and grandkids, but not now, not in this moment.

"I see," the professor answered shrewdly, eyes still riveted to George’s face. "Well, in that case, I will leave you to think it over this evening. In the meantime, I seem to remember a conversation that we were unable to finish this afternoon, George. I should like to finish it now. Fred, you may go. Use Potter’s cloak and map."

The twins both looked aghast at her knowledge, forgetting any protests they were thinking of voicing in face of the surprise.

"Honestly, you two," McGonagall’s voice was exasperated. "I do not live in a cave. I  _did_ teach James Potter and Sirius Black, you know.”

Fred snapped out of the second shock of the evening quickly.

"What about George?" he challenged boldly. "How’s he going to get back?"

“ _I_  will get him back!” Professor McGonagall snapped, her patience finally worn thin. “Now if you do not stop asking so many damn fool questions, I will give you detention every day for the entire month!”

Fred moved very swiftly at that potentially realistic threat (although the fact that Minerva McGonagall, of all people, was actually  _cursing_  at him might have impacted him as well), taking the cloak from George’s outstretched hand and rushing to the door.

"See you later," the elder twin nodded at George a little apologetically, but the younger redhead waved him off casually and was almost grateful when the door closed behind him.

* * *

 


End file.
